


A Study in Herring

by FadedPolaroid



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Adoption, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Murder, Dismemberment, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Healthy Relationships, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It gets better I swear, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Other, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Red Herrings, Regent is dead, Secret Identity, Serious, Sherlock!Laurent, don't crucify me, govart is dead, i love this series i know it's out of character, isthima, kastor is dead, mentions of abuse, unexpected ending, vacation gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-19 20:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16541552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedPolaroid/pseuds/FadedPolaroid
Summary: 5 years post King's Rising, Laurent, Damen, Nikandros, and Jord go on a much needed vacation to Isthima. The water is cool, the sand is hot - and there's blood all over the walls of the guest room.TL;DRLaurent is a not-so-modern Sherlock Holmes and Damen makes a very useless John Watson.





	1. A rest in Isthima

The sun shone brightly on the sand beneath his feet, warming the soles and provoking urgency as he waded into the cool waters. The Southern beach of Isthima was beautiful in the summer; pebbled with the active bodies of Akielons and the sound of children at play. Almost as if the boy knew he had thought it, the air was sluiced with the cries of his nephew, Phaedrus. He turned his gaze to the small boy, barely bigger than a baby and not yet old enough to talk; his tan body clinging desperately to the leg of his mother as she attempted to stand and walk to the water’s edge. Jokaste seemed amused and not at all burdened, he thought, her face twisting with a smile and flush with affection only afforded to one’s child. Laurent found himself smiling at the two, losing his thoughts in the soft atmosphere of calm that the beach imposed upon him. 

The ship was of adequate size, he’d decided, big enough at least to allow him a few books in addition to his necessities. Damianos stood beside him in stride, poring over a list he had compiled of resources they would need on their trip. He seemed so perplexed by his own handwriting that Laurent nearly had to fight back laughter, opting instead to thieve the parchment from his lover and decipher it himself. 

“Books, clothes, dried fruits, sweetmeat, an assortment of cured meats, fifteen parcels of parchment and ink, mint paste, coconut oil and beeswax puree, oil, and.. Damianos, tell me this does not say what I think it says. Why would you have a need for the war records when we’re on vacation?” Laurent’s voice lilted into a soft question, his annoyance apparent but not presented so much so that a passersby could hear. 

“Laurent,” Damianos began, “don’t you think it’s important for us to know our own records? I realize we’re vacationing but uniting Akielos and Vere into one country - it’s a big deal.” 

Laurent shook his head slowly and tore the parchment off just below ‘oil’. 

“You won’t allow me to work, so I won’t allow you to, either.”   
There was a hint of playfulness in his voice, though he’d never admit such. 

Laurent was brought out of his playful mood when he was grabbed by the shoulder, not indelicately, and was brought to look down upon a palace slave whose name he did not know. 

“Your Highness - I am so sorry to disturb but I am to inform you that a Kyros will be joining you on your trip to Isthima.” 

Laurent raised an eyebrow, turning to Damianos and dismissing the slave with a wave of his hand.   
“I didn’t expect Nikandros to agree to join us.”

Damen chuckled, his hand resting lightly between Laurent’s shoulder blades as he spoke, “Of course they did. I invited them quite some time ago, Laur.”   
Laurent gave a swift nod, and returned to his duties, commanding the staff assigned to move their belongings in much the same manner as he commanded his regime. In no time at all they were ready to depart, and a quick messenger assured that they did. 

Laurent was brought back to the present with a shiver, realizing the sun had been blocked before him and replaced by a distinctly Damianos-shaped shadow. He chuckled, raised his head, and placed a delicate hand to cup his husband’s cheek. He placed a chaste kiss to his forehead, and grasped his hand to pull him into the water. The two swam for quite some time, joined briefly by an amused Nikandros as it was discovered that Laurent was unable to actually swim. Jord nearly abandoned his post beside Jokaste to chide Damen, acutely aware that Laurent was far from fond of losing the ground beneath his feet. The festivities came to a cease with the abrupt and ceaseless cries of a presumably tired Phaedrus, and the group were called into the palace for their supper. 

The table was adorned beautifully, an assortment of local cuisines and indulgences covering the whole of the tablecloth from end to end. Entertainment was arranged by the palace staff, and the group broke off into their respective pairings; Jokaste standing comfortably behind Damianos and Laurent as they sat and conversed amongst themselves. Phaedrus struggled in her arms, grasping at her hair and her clothes as though nothing in the world could possibly be more interesting than the pallid colouring so unique to both her and Laurent in tandem. Laurent glanced behind himself for a moment, making a soft motion for Jokaste to join between Damianos and himself without alerting Damen to her presence in the slightest. 

The three of them joked quietly, making passes about the late Regent, and pondering as to whether Kastor had kissed his ring for the throne. Damianos made a passing comment about the logistics of Laurent’s adventure in the wagon, posed as Jokaste and clad in a dress; eliciting a shrill cackle from Jokaste that drew the attention of both Jord and Nikandros, causing them to stand and join the group. The echoes of their laughter could be heard throughout the dining hall and the courtyard beyond - the first true sign of relaxation they had been offered in quite some time. 

“So, Nikandros, tell me more about Damen’s fumbling adventures with the blonde from Ios. What was her name again?” Laurent sought to embarrass Damianos just slightly, pleased with the flush his comment garnered. 

Nikandros gave a hearty laugh, hiccuping through his reply, “Her name was Kiera. Actually, all of their names were Kiera. I think you’ve realized by now that Damianos has a type. The first time Makedon offered us griva, he downed a full chalice and went around terrorizing Kastor’s palace slaves. Kiera was a lovely girl, though I can’t say Theomedes much approved of Damen’s adventures into Kastor’s household. Damen was convinced he loved her, until he realized the second time that he had mistaken another fair-skinned blonde for her. It was quite amusing to watch him try for reconciliation after calling her Kiera and receiving a firm backhand.”

Damen turned away from Laurent, his face clearly red through his dark complexion. His shame shone frankly on his features, and Laurent couldn’t resist giving a chuckle. Though he was preoccupied with poking at Damen’s cheek teasingly, the quiet excuse and departure of both Nikandros and Jord did not escape his notice. He was genuinely happy for the both of them, knowing full well what they had been through. He wished them the best, or at least better than he and Damianos had received. His face contorted oddly in response to the sudden sobriety of his lover, and the question posed before him. 

Laurent stuttered, blinking hard and trying to clear his head, “Could you repeat that?”

“I asked if you could tell me more about Auguste. I don’t want to pry, but I know he’s important to you and I fear I know very little of who he was, to you.”

Laurent smiled a soft, sad smile as he launched into a story of the first time he and Auguste had ever shirked their palace duties, speaking of adoration and love between brothers that rivaled no other. He and Auguste shared a bond that was almost of parent and child, as Laurent had never known his mother. His father was incapable of palpable love, instead showing his affection and care by tossing his sons into battle and debate. Power was his language of love, but it was one that Laurent could not bring himself to learn to speak. He lived in books and strategy, planning for Auguste’s battles and sending him to carry out elaborate plans. He had the mind of a viper at such a young age, though he was full of nothing but pride in his brother. 

“-and so father made us both run laps around the palace until we nearly collapsed of exhaustion. Auguste had no qualms with it, but I devised a plan for the next time that would get us out of such punishments.”   
Laurent’s voice was soft and airy, unencumbered by grief for a short time. Jokaste had handed him Phaedrus some time ago, silently imploring of him to put the child to sleep so she could eat and rest for a short time before he woke and she returned to her rooms. Not long after his tale of Auguste concluded, he was tapped by Jokaste, and handed Phaedrus to her delicately. 

He had begun to cry, presumably because he was hungry, and she made her leave to her rooms in order to feed him privately.   
Laurent and Damianos came to a unanimous yawn, concluding that they should retire to their room as well for the night. They stumbled down the halls, laughing and jesting as the griva they had brought with them made its way through their systems. It wasn’t long before they collapsed onto the pallet in their room, and were dead to the world for want of much needed rest. 

\----------------------------------------

Laurent cracked his eyes open just slightly at the sound of knuckles against the mahogany door, his annoyance palpable as he noted that the sun had not quite crowned the horizon. He pulled the covers over his head, hoping in vain that the knocking would cease until a more reasonable hour of the morning. The entire palace was well aware that they had partaken in far too much griva the night before, and the echoing cacophony of knocking was a travesty if nothing else. 

Damianos groaned beside him, grumbling and fussing with the blanket until he had freed himself, shivering from the cold of the early morning. He fumbled with one of the oil lamps, lighting it and making his way to the door, clearly unamused. His voice shifted through the wood of the door as he opened it, reaching the knocker slightly warped and with an edge, “Breakfast is far from an emergent event, Nikan-” 

Damen’s voice broke as he glimpsed the sheer panic and horror on the face of his brother, immediately snapping out of his haze and moving to retrieve Laurent from the bed. 

“Damianos you had better have a very good reason for pulling me from - ,“ Laurent stopped short, tugging his hair behind his head and standing to attention, “nevermind that. Nikandros, what happened?” 

Laurent and Damianos watched as their friend struggled to find words, eventually seeming to settle with, “I need you both to come with me.” 

He turned and walked swiftly, grasping the hand of an equally panicked Jord as they made their way down the halls, a sick feeling settling in Laurent’s stomach as they went.


	2. The Faceless Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah - yeah. I did them all dirty with this one I think. Whoops.

The four of them came to a stop before a door that Laurent recognized, making mental note of the resident it was assigned to. Damianos seemed aloof, sleep still dredged across his face with every slow blink and the gentle crawl of thought in his mind. Laurent turned an apprehensive gaze, near fearful, towards Jord; the pair silently noting that this was going to go very, very, poorly. 

“Why are we here?”  
Damianos’ voice echoed through the empty hall, curiously clear of guardstaff. 

“Damen,” Nikandros began, “you should brace yourself.” 

Laurent’s hair stood on end, reaching a tentative hand to graze his lover’s shoulder as he made the connection. Damen reacted with vitriolic abandon, pushing open the door with his knee and nearly doubling over with nausea; the blood coated the walls and floor in thick, disorganized ropes, converging at a mass that one could only guess had once been a person. Damen braced himself against the doorframe, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping the night’s feast within his body. 

The room was a mess, to say the least. The floor had been gouged into, bedding was cast across the furniture; feathers and what Laurent identified as human hair were matted thickly into the now dried blood on the floor. It looked as if someone had been put through a butchers’ assembly. 

Damen dared not enter, instead steeling himself near the door and maintaining as much of a clear tone as he could. His eyes were clouded, though Laurent couldn’t for the life of him understand what he was feeling, or even if he had realized who the victim was. A quick glance to Jord solidified his decision not to say anything; Damianos was far too unprepared for what they had already confirmed. Laurent thought to himself that he was far too cruel to be the man’s husband at times, too removed and too easily untangled from emotion to be trusted with Damen’s heart. His thoughts were interrupted by a muffled sound originating in the washroom at the back of the quarters, though he was unsure as to what had made the noise. 

Jord and Nikandros both motioned for Laurent to step back near Damianos, but he shook his head, drawing a dagger he kept with him for self defense. The three of them crept towards the back of the room, muffling their footsteps as best as they could in case the perpetrator was still within the area. Another cry ripped from the room and Laurent felt his heart drop to his stomach densely, only one thought crossing his mind as he dropped the dagger and braced against the washroom door, forcing it open desperately: Phaedrus. 

The boy was laying on a pallet of blankets within the washbasin, nestled with a hurried love and instructions to stay quiet. Laurent could only imagine how long ago he had been lain there, the panic and the fear in his heart at the thought that Jokaste had offered her own life to protect the child.


	3. A Subtle Touch

They should have been home days ago. Laurent knows this. Damianos knows this. Jord and Nikandros chose not to mention. 

The discomfort came with the situation. Damianos had just lost and gained in great stride within moments, and he was panicked. Despite having been given the child, having been told to return to his rooms, he found himself lingering in the hall of the library. Phaedrus - Jokaste and Kastor’s son - was now his own child by orphanage. He was alone in the world save for Damen and Laurent, and he could barely begin to think how he would explain that in the years to come. 

The grief came over him in waves. He felt the ache in his bones and the hollow sorrow bubbling between his teeth in quiet exclamations of pain. He felt the ache not of his heart, but of his soul, in the very culmination of his being he was grieving. His tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as the child in his arms began to cry; the hall seemingly too loud and too quiet simultaneously. He hung his head low, covering the child with his hair and slinking to the ground in one solid mass, curling around the boy to protect him as Damen waited for the agony to pass. 

It never did. It grew and grew like a seed planted in his essence, blooming into a garbled, rotting thing that devoured his insides until he was empty. 

The cold echoed through his body, freezing over his veins and stopping his breath in his throat. 

He didn’t resist when Laurent pulled him from the ground, child in arm, and dragged him to their quarters. 

The room was both unchanged and unfamiliar in tandem. His heart swelled as the familiar scent washed over him; the soft grazing lavender of Laurent’s perfumed linens mixing with Damen’s own sandalwood soaps in the air. He vaguely recalled Nik and Jord in the room with them for a moment, the two carrying Phaedrus away to their own rooms while Laurent fussed over his husband. 

The warmth returned to him in waves as he was lifted and carried into their bath, allowing Laurent to lower him into the washbasin; full and bubbling with Laurent’s own special soaps. Damen murmured lowly, something vague about ruining his clothes, but Laurent was quick to dismiss him with a soft remark on how replaceable their apparel was given they were Kings. 

Damen was unsure how long he had been sitting in the water, the heat soaking to his bones and bringing him back to himself in stages as he began to slowly regain his awareness. \

Laurent’s hands were tangled in his hair, lathering shampoo through it slowly, more massaging Damen’s scalp than really washing anything. He wasn’t complaining though, the touch of his better half was more than welcome when he couldn’t be sure his body was even real anymore. 

“Welcome back, Lover.” 

Damen chuckled a bit at the domesticity of it all, biting back with love, “You’re being quite un-Laurent-like right now.” 

Laurent clicked his tongue, “Tsk. I know she was important to you. And to me as well - I considered her my friend, Damen. I’m sorry. I will find who did this and when I do I swear I’ll-”

Damen pulled Laurent halfway into the tub with him, embracing him in a tight hug and whispering an apology. Laurent shook his head, shuddering in what Damen barely recognized as sobs. Laurent was crying for the loss of a woman who as far as he should have been concerned, was the cause of much of his agony before he’d married Damen. The gravity of her companionship was felt by both of them, holding their embrace until the water ran cold, and Laurent wiped his cheeks - finding it then apt to rinse Damen’s hair and towel them both dry. 

Damen was weak not only physically now, but emotionally as well, allowing himself to be led onto their bed. Laurent sat, leaning back against the wall and tugged Damianos closer to himself, allowing him to rest his head in his lap. 

They sat like that for a long while, Laurent’s fingers carding through Damen’s hair as they both lost themselves in thought, before their door was opened by both Jord and Nikandros. 

“How are you both fari-” Nikandros cut himself off when Laurent raised a finger to his lips, motioning that Damen was asleep, and continued in a whisper, “how are you faring? I know this is hard on him, but how are you? Are you certain you can do this, Laurent?”

Laurent nodded, “I have a few ideas. There were details even in the little evidence we had. The slashes were distinct and patterned, clearly inflicted by someone with training. That leaves Military or private defense. It was done at night when the patrols were lax and nobody heard anything which leads me to believe she either knew her assailant, or she wa ambushed. Both would make sense actually, considering Military; private defense is less tactful. This screams of someone who knew our patterns and our military strategies and tactics. Everybody who came with us is accounted for, though, and we have no leads.” 

Nikandros and Jord both grunted in agreement, stating nearly unanimously: “We have to return to Ios.”

Laurent nodded, his expression grim as he thought of the journey back and what awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy - ! Thank you so much for 100+ hits! I never thought anybody would be interested in this little fic and I can't express how grateful I am that you all are so supportive!


	4. Glass Rain

Laurent’s eyes were dry and ached from use, pouring over the fifth transcript that morning. He was pacing, from stern to bow every thirty seconds of the trip back. His hands worked tirelessly at each other, wringing his stresses and wearing down the thread of his sleeves attentively. He looked a mess. There was blond hair straggling across his face, plastered to his forehead from sweat and spindrift; his shirt was unlaced to his sternum and sported stains of several colours and varying ages across the front. He’d abandoned shoes for walking barefoot, finding it to be helpful in easing his seasickness. He suspected it was from exhaustion and lack of nourishment rather than any kind of actual illness brought on by the tumultuous waves that surrounded the vessel. 

Damen hadn’t returned from his quarters in days, and had he not been returning empty plates of food to the staff, Laurent would suspect him to be dead down there. Laurent had spent four hours of every morning taking care to preserve Jokaste’s remains - a nasty, vile business that left him a bit more than disturbed and nauseous. Her body was a mess. It was less of a body and more what one would expect to receive from a butcher’s discard or scraps. There was little to be done to change the physical aspect of her remains, but he could at least keep her from decaying or becoming unrecognizable until the palace physicians and morticians could be given access when they returned. 

Laurent was stepping up from the belly of the ship from that very task, when he was met with the sight of Damianos cradling a sleeping Phaedrus as they sat against the door to their quarters, mumbling unintelligibly to the child. A soft smile passed him as Damen looked up, meeting his gaze and motioning for Laurent to be quiet as he approached. He took a careful seat beside Damen and stroked a thumb over his cheek, “Are you alright, lover?” 

Damianos faltered only for a moment, a sad twitch to his lips as he spoke, “I will be when we solve this. What are we to do when we return, Laurent? We can’t just go out into the night with a sapphire earring and investigate like we used to. What do we do, now?”

“Well,” Laurent began, “we ask for help. Jord and Nikandros have always been here for us, and I’m sure this isn’t anything they don’t already expect. I’ll position Jord with two thirds of our troops to command until we return, and you should arrange to have Nikandros take care of the basic council duties as acting King. He can handle your council and he’s very familiar with everyone in the court so there should be no worry there.” 

Damen nodded, “I’ll ask him later. What about Phaedrus? What do we do with him? We can’t take him - if we’re taking soldiers you’re expecting a battle and there’s no place for him in that violence.” 

“We leave him here, with Erasmus and Torveld. They were visiting to discuss politics, but I’m sure they won’t mind helping us for a few weeks. They’ve intended to take in a few orphans of the last war anyway. This can be practice.” Laurent’s gaze tipped to the infant in his husband’s arms, fondly smiling to him. 

They spoke for a long while, like that, sitting in the sun and fawning over Phaedrus as he slept between them. Eventually Damianos went to retrieve some food, leaving Phaedrus with Laurent. 

“Hello, little savage. Your mother was brave, you know. One of the smartest and most ambitious women I have ever come to know. When I see her again, I’ll have to thank her for giving you her eyes, little savage. You look just like your uncles. Perhaps you’ll never have to know what happened to her..” Laurent’s voice cracked, recalling the plague of tragedy that followed his bloodline wherever it went. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault that Jokaste was dead, his fault that she wasn’t given more security. He should have been alert, should have known something would happen. He held the boy in his arms, unmoving as tears fell from his cheeks. 

Damen returned to a bloodshot, watery gaze that burned him to the marrow; able only to return a gaze of understanding to his lover. For the first time in many moons, they slept in the same space through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 bookmarks and over 200 hits! You guys never cease to amaze me. I hope you enjoy the direction this story is going, as I've planned it to the finale already. There may be minor changes made since I don't have a beta, but we'll see!


	5. Rally in Sicyon

“Damianos, tell me you’re not serious!” Nikandros’ voice pilfered through the calm air of the room like a winter breeze, waking Laurent with a soft start. 

Laurent lay silently, metering his breath and concealing any form of movement as he listened to the two talk, unaware that Jord had already noticed him wake. 

“Nik please - you know what she meant to me. Jokaste deserves to be avenged, at the very least she deserves to be laid with her murderer punished. All I’m asking is-” 

“I know what you’re asking! You’re asking me to stay behind again and do nothing as you charge into a country full of people who wish you dead.” 

Laurent sat up with a start, cool gaze washing over Nik and Damen with purpose as he spoke clearly and without prelude, “He is asking you to care for his home while we find the person who murdered the mother of his nephew. He is not asking you to watch him die, fool, he asking you to make sure there’s still a country here when we return.” 

Every word was sharp and concise, dripping with vitriol and the shake of exhaustion. 

Nikandros nodded, grabbing Jord by the hand and exiting the room without another word, leaving Damen and Laurent to converse amongst themselves in the empty room. 

“You didn’t have to be so hard on him.” Damen’s voice carried louder than it should have, startling Laurent in a way he was not quite awake enough to conceal. 

“I did.” 

“He’s just scared, Lau-”

“We’re all scared Damianos!” Laurent shook with the force of his own words, a sudden wave of nausea passing over him. His hands trembled where they sat bunched in his bedclothes, hair mussed and matted to his forehead as though he’d been having night terrors again. 

Damianos crossed the space between them, pulling Laurent into his arms and carding through his hair with a gentle purpose. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’ll figure this out. It’s not your fault if we don’t.” 

Laurent bit back at the kindness, hard lines forming on his face, “You’re not supposed to be the intelligent one, lover.” 

Damen chuckled and leaned back, drifting off in time with his fingers in Laurent’s hair. 

\----------------

When he woke it was dusk, and Laurent was gone from the bed. 

He pulled his chiton over his bedclothes with haste, pinning his medallion to the shoulder and shuffling into the courtyard, drawn by the sound of voices. Jord and Laurent were sat under the apple blossoms, maps in hand and hushed exchanges of ideas passing unnoticed by passersby. 

“I thought we weren’t leaving yet?”

“I changed my mind,” started Laurent, eyes cast to his map, “we need to get to Sicyon within a fortnight or we’ll lose access to the troops.” 

“Sicyon? Why on earth would you voluntarily go to Makedon?”

“We need his soldiers. Sicyon has been quiet for awhile, and their troops are restless. What better choice than to relieve Makedon of military power and ease the social stress in Sicyon?”

Damianos chuckled and motioned for them to follow him, taking up a straighter posture as they entered the barracks. 

“Jord will be your captain until my return from this mission. I need 1200 soldiers ready to deploy by sundown. I don’t care who comes, as long as your numbers are satisfactory. No rookies. We meet when light ends in the courtyard to the West.”

The conversations sparked were fairly tame, and Damianos was left without question or complaint from his men. In the time it took for him to gather his and Laurent’s belongings, 1200 uniformed troops were standing attentive at the West courtyard gate, awaiting their captain and their orders. 

Damen mounted his horse and turned to Laurent, skeptical but ready.

“I doubt he’ll give up his troops, Laurent. You know he trains each of them himself.” 

\---------

As it were - Makedon did give up his troops. 500 notched bodies joined the uniforms among them, and rode with them to the midpoint of Sicyon and Delpha. 

Camp was made relatively easily, and there were few issues between the two groups of soldiers. Many of Makedon’s troupe were cohabitating with the forces from Ios, aiding in keeping tensions to a minimum. They were far more helpful than Laurent or Damianos expected, going so far as to help gather supplies and relieve the other soldiers of their strenuous duties. Damen recalled Makedon’s words fondly, having expected no less from his mentor and his father’s friend. 

“News of Jokaste has spread even this far. You’ll find no resistance from me in your quest to find her killer; take as many of my men as you need. They’ll not resist.” 

Laurent seemed bothered by the admission, but made no comment at the time. 

Speaking of Laurent, a blond head poked its way through the sea of soldiers like a beacon of regality, guiding Damen to his side and helping to pull the bodies apart as they made way for their tent. 

“We need to talk strategy, Damianos. Delpha has always been the midpoint of our countries, and it remains a cultural hub. We should go there, to find information. We can’t just walk into a pub and ask questions, we’ll have to send soldiers. I suggest we send four pairs, equal parts Makedon’s troops and ours. It’ll look more natural that way. Have them investigate as civilians.”

Damen simply nodded, knowing Laurent would always have more success than he would when it came to planning ahead. 

“Isn’t Charls in Delpha right now? We could ask him for help - I’m sure he’s heard something.” 

Laurent’s eyes lit up, pulling Damen close to glance a peck on his forehead chastely, “This, Damianos, is why I love you and your useless amounts of information.” 

He flushed at the compliment, turning back to the map and charting out every step of their journey with Laurent until dawn. 

\----------

Their search was worse than ineffectual - it was empty. They had learned nothing, save for a rumor in regards to Laurent secretly being Jokaste. Not helpful in the least, possibly detrimental given their appearances nearby. 

Laurent had caught wind of someone strikingly similar to Guion in the area, sneaking out on his own with the sapphire earring and gathering as much intel as he could manage before he was recognized or marked for his likeness. 

When he returned to camp, Damianos was waiting impatiently outside the tent, hair a mess as though he hadn’t yet slept. 

“Where were you-” 

“No time. I have information you want to hear. I need you to pen a letter to Nikandros and Jord, they need to be warned.” 

“Warned about what?” 

“Guion is alive. People are talking of an uprising in Marlas. Something about ‘rebelling against the cast iron prince and his barbarian lover’, if that strikes you as familiar.” 

“Do you think-?”

 

“Maybe, I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. We need to go to Marlas.”

Damianos sighed, and saddled his horse. The troops were already awake, packing camp under his instruction and heading to Marlas on godspeed if ever they had it.

When they arrive, it looks just as it did that day ten years ago. The grass was scorched and kicked up, hoofprints and discarded weapons sticking lonely in the mud. It must have rained not long ago. 

“They were here. They slaughtered people here, just like - just like Auguste. This was intentional, Damen, it has to be Guion.” 

He was met only by sad eyes, watching as his lover absentmindedly ran a hand over the scar he received in this very field all that time ago. 

Their investigation ran short in Marlas as well, leaving them only one place to return to, only once place they knew they could search and find answers. 

Chastillon. They needed to find Loyse. 

They couldn’t risk startling the locals, and left half of their troops to make camp at Marlas. They would be fine on their own until Laurent and Damianos rendezvoused again, their only task to speak with the locals and find anything they could about the battle that took place. 

\------

When Laurent and Damen arrived in Chastillon, it was quiet. No outward indication of the ghosts that followed them through each doorway, each passing moment like old bones resurfacing from sea. They felt as though they would sink if they stayed too long, vowing to leave when they could. 

“My Kings - Laurent, Damianos.” Loyse’s face was grim, no doubt burdened by the weight of their appearance in her home. 

“I’m sorry, Loyse, but I think you know why we’re here.” Laurent’s voice lilted through itself, a bare whisper against the stale air of the forted walls. 

“Guion hasn’t been here since long after Aimeric. I can’t help you, I’m sorry. I only have my sons, Laurent, they’re all I have now - and even they can barely sustain this li-”

Laurent interjected, staring pointedly, “Speaking of your sons, Loyse. Where is Aleric? I only saw Andric and Adam on the way in.” 

Loyse closed her eyes and sighed into herself, deflating under the weight of the question and its implied implication. “Aleric left weeks ago. I don’t know where he went. He was always - he always spoke of Guion as though he was to be idolized; he was obsessed with his cause. I tried to hard to stop him, Laurent, but he’s gone. He said he was going to Acquitart - that his real family would be there, for him.” 

“You didn’t think to notify anyone?”

“I sent a parcel as soon as he left! I expected you long before now.. I thought perhaps you had just killed him and left.” 

“If we had received your notice, I would have.” 

She turned her head sharply, standing and watching her other sons through the window. 

“You should leave. Andric and Adam don’t need to know you.” 

Damen grasped for Laurent’s hand, pulling him through the open door and mounting his horse with purpose. To Acquitart. A territory Laurent knew well. They would have power there, he thought. 

\-------

Upon their arrival, the head of a local village approached them with cautious news. He spoke of a man and his son, rallying troops for a cause he refused to name. He said the boy’s name was Aleric.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first ever upload to AO3 and honestly - this started as an assignment for a Lit class. But I'm neck deep in CaPri and this is way better than I thought it would be. Please let me know if anything doesn't work, and suggest edits!


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